“Slow down,” he said.
“What?”
“The faster you walk, the more attention you’ll draw.”
“Right, right.”
After a moment, Pryce’s breaths evened out.
“So, what’s this information you have for me?” Bronsky asked.
“I checked CCTV footage in the area of Dame Felicity’s house from the day of the bombing.”
“I thought you’d already established the car left the house that evening, just like it was reported on TV.”
“I’m not talking about in the evening. I’m talking about earlier.Eight hoursearlier to be exact.”
“You have my attention.”
“At that time, a vehicle owned by James Hall arrived at her place and parked in the garage. Ten minutes later, it left again. There were two people in the car, but the only one I could identify was Acting Chief Hall. Well, I guess he wasn’t acting chief at that moment, just assistant—”
“Do you know where it went?” Bronsky cut in.
“Uh, CCTV footage showed the vehicle driving to an airfield frequented by private jets. Unfortunately, all airport footage that would have shown where the car went and who exited it has been erased.”
“Erased?”
“Correct. There’s footage from an hour before and an hour after, but the time block in between is missing.”
Bronsky smiled.
Hall’s passenger had to be Dame Felicity, probably off to some clandestine meeting. The trip that ended up saving her life.
“Is that all?” he asked.
“It is. I thought you’d want to know.”
“I would be happier if you told me where she is now.”
“I have no idea,” Pryce said, as if surprised by the suggestion.
“Then you have some work to do, don’t you?”
“How am I supposed to—”
Bronsky hung up.
He had no expectations that Pryce would be able to uncover Felicity’s whereabouts. Bronsky was already ten steps ahead of him in that regard. But it never hurt to keep a source on his toes.
His next call was to Richter.
Bronsky had tasked him with coordinating the surveillance of Barrington’s homes in L.A. and Maine.
“Yes?” the man answered.
“It’s Mr. Drake,” Bronsky said, using the name he’d given him.
“I was just going to call you.”
